The One Planet Literature series: Novella
The Fortieth Hour
The One Planet Literature series
1. Flee, Mama Flee – David Mulwa
2. Seven Shades of Dusk – Kwamboka Oyaro
3. Angels of the Wild – Ng’ang’a Mbugua
4. The Daredevil Rider – Henry Munene
5. The Ridges Across River Kaiti – Wambua wa Kawive
6. From the Heart of my Mother – Ken Wasudi
7. The High Road – Jennie Marima
8. Just this Once – Jennie Marima
9. Little Heroes – Ian McKenzie-Vincent
10. A Spider’s Web – Samuel Wachira
11. The Climate of Change – Ian McKenzie-Vincent
12. A Journey to Becoming – Egara Kabaji
13. Hustlers’ Chains – Samuel Wachira
14. Leading Light – Kithusi Mulonzya
15. Strange Happenings – Jennie Marima
The
Fortie th
Hour
Kithusi Mulonzya
O nePLANET
Published by
One Planet Publishing & Media Services Limited
PO Box 5649 – 00506, Nairobi, Kenya
Email: info@oneplanetpublishing.com
Website: www.oneplanetpublishing.com
© Kithusi Mulonzya 2023
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
First published 2023
Reprinted 2024
All rights reserved. No part of this publicaon may be reproduced
or transmied in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any informaon
storage and retrieval system, without the prior wrien permission
of One Planet Publishing & Media Services Limited.
Enquiries concerning reproducon may be sent to the Publishing
Department, One Planet Publishing & Media Services Limited, at
the address above.
ISBN 978 9914 41 012 9
Illustraons by Vincent Nyalik
Cover illustraon by Vincent Nyalik
Printed by
Modern Lithographic Kenya ltd.
PO Box 52810 – 00200, Nairobi, Kenya
Email: info@modernlitho.co.ke
1
My first day at the county government offices was exciting.
I had been anxious about what to expect. That morning
my Community Service Week supervisor warned me that
anything could happen any time.
“Here, everything happens, yet nothing seems to
happen,” Mr Mengi said.
What Mr Mengi said sounded confusing, so I asked him,
“How do you know when something has happened, Sir?”
We were walking along Uzima Street in what he called
the ‘usual patrol’. He stopped and pointed at a car that
had crossed a red traffic light. “You see that car?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think its driver is obeying the traffic rules?”
“No, Sir,” I quickly answered, happy that I easily knew
the correct answer to his question. The theme of travel
safety had been rubbed in our brains and hearts during
our school lessons.
Chapter One
2
Mr Mengi tapped me on the shoulder and urged me
to continue walking. “One of the best ways to know that
something has happened is to spot any lawbreaking.”
“So, what will happen to that car?” I asked as I stole a
glance at the car. I noticed that it had been stopped by a
uniformed man.
“The traffic marshals will deal with the driver
as mandated by the city by-laws,” Mr Mengi simply
said. He was referring to the officers from the county
government’s parking and traffic control department
whose main role was to ensure traffic flowed smoothly
on the roads and that vehicles were properly parked at
the designated parking spaces.
We walked around quietly for a few minutes. I was keenly
observing everything to detect if ‘anything’ happened. I
felt safe in Mr Mengi’s company. The departmental head
who had received me that morning had been right about
Mr Mengi. He had assured me that I would be in the safe
hands of Mr Mengi, who was a good man and the best
officer in his team. He was going to teach me everything
I needed to know about the procedures of parking in the
city, particularly its new digital parking platform.
My interest in the city’s new digital parking platform
was sparked off by our Computer Studies teacher’s praise
for it. She had talked highly of it during our Third Term
lessons.
3
“Let me tell you, my dear learners,” Ms Gloria had said.
“There are systems and there are systems.”
I had shot up my hand to ask a question.
“Yes, Majani. I can see you have a question.”
“Yes, Ms Gloria,” I had replied, rising up. “Is that a new
idiom?”
The class had burst out laughing. Ms Gloria had
laughed longer than all of us. We truly admired her; she
was also our teacher of English. She always encouraged us
to ask questions and make comments, even the silly ones.
She never took any offence at my inquisitive nature.
Ms Gloria always reminded us that we could not learn
how to communicate well if we did not speak in class. She
would reiterate that it was by speaking out loud that she
got to know if we had any challenges in our expressions.
That way, she would seize the opportunity to correct us,
and we would gain mastery of the language much faster.
“Now, Majani, you have our attention. What serious
question do you have?” Ms Gloria had asked me, looking
quite earnest.
“Thank you, Ms Gloria,” I had said respectfully, then
cleared my throat. “You’ve taught us that repetition can be
used to signal emphasis.”
“Correct.”
“What makes you emphasise on this digital system of
our city?” I had asked.
4
Ms Gloria had stridden towards me as she responded. “I
participated in developing it as one of their consultants,”
she had explained, locking her eyes with mine. Every time
she locked her eyes with yours, you knew she was very
serious. She was small in stature. In fact, a visitor could
have mistaken her for one of the learners. However, her
eyes were way too commanding. Her eyes were slightly
bigger than average, and whenever she got angry or
agitated, they would bulge and become beady as if they
were about to explode. They would also exude so much
fire that you would feel their heat. Such moments of near-
explosion were, thankfully, very rare. You had to have
crossed many lines to annoy Ms Gloria.
“And you, Majani, being one of my computer nerds,
how would you like experiencing it live and direct?” Ms
Gloria had asked, catching me off-guard. She was not
smiling, which meant one thing: she was not teasing me.
“Experiencing?” I had felt lost. “How?”
“I can secure you space for attachment at the county
government parking and traffic control office to do
your community service session during the next school
holiday.”
I do not know what exactly happened to me, but I found
myself on my feet! I wanted to hug Ms Gloria, if only that
was allowed.
“I would love it! Oh, how kind of you, Ms Gloria!” I had
said breathlessly.
5
“We know you are good at these things.” Ms Gloria was
then patting my shoulder. “We cherish your software for
the scheduling of club meetings and sessions. It has helped
us to avoid the many conflicts that used to be witnessed in
our school. Class, clap for Majani!”
Hearty claps had erupted in our classroom.
“At the county parking and traffic control unit, you will
get a taste of this new parking regulation software we have
helped to develop,” Ms Gloria had said as she retreated
to the front of the class to continue with our Computer
Studies lesson.
“Thank you!” I had managed to say. My mind was then
far away; I was already at cloud nine, as they say. I could
not wait for the Community Service Week to come.
So, here I was, walking alongside Mr Mengi who was
carrying and operating a tablet to check which motorist
had paid the mandatory city parking fee and which one
had defaulted.
“I want you to check the next car,” Mr Mengi said,
handing me the tablet. “Here, take the gadget.”
I almost snatched the instrument from him, but I
managed to control myself. I did not want him to detect
my anxiety. The truth is that I was very eager to key in the
first number plate and witness the magic of automation.
“I will start with the car in front of me,” I said, punching
the registration number of a pale blue saloon car.
6
A/w 1 – M a j a n i (1 5-y e a r-o l d b o y) i s e x c i t e d l y o p e r a t i n g
a t a b l et t o c h e c k t h e p a r k i n g st a t u s o f a p a l e b l u e c a r p a r k e d
a t a p a r k i n g l o t o n a st r e et. M r M e n g i (a m i d d l e-a g e d c i t y
p a r k i n g o f f i c e r) i s p o i n t i n g a t t h e c l a m p o n t h e f r o n t r i g h t
h a nd s i d e t y r e o f t h e c a r.
“I will start with the car in front of me,” I said,
punching the registration number of a pale blue saloon
car.
7
“No need for that,” Mr Mengi said as he pointed at
the front right-hand side wheel. “Evidently, this one
hasn’t yet paid any parking fee. See, it’s already clamped.
Whenever a motorist fails to pay the parking fee, this
metal bar is fastened around the front right-hand side
wheel to prevent him or her from driving away without
paying. The motorist will then have to go to the office to
pay the day’s fee plus a fine, failure to which his or her car
will be towed away and he or she will be taken to court.”
“Ahh,” I gasped. “So this one may end up in court? It
says here: NOT PAID.”
“Possibly,” Mr Mengi said, motioning me to continue
walking.
“Can I check out the next one?”
“Well, it seems that my colleague has already checked
cars on this street.”
I instinctively scratched my nape – something I often
did whenever I was concerned about something. I was not
sure whether I should ask or wait and see if my question
would be answered without my asking.
Mr Mengi came to my rescue. “Is something bothering
you, Majani?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“You can ask me anything, with neither hesitation nor
reservation.”
8
“Thank you, Sir,” I said, smiling to hide my nervousness.
“When we were in your office, you showed me a list of the
streets and roads assigned to you… to us today.”
“Yes?”
“This was one of them.”
“Yes?”
“Why would any of your colleagues stray into your
zone?”
“It’s not unusual to confuse your street with someone
else’s,” Mr Mengi explained, trying to downplay the
confusion or mix-up that might have occurred.
“So, no one ever takes offence when the other crosses
the line?” I probed politely.
“No,” Mr Mengi said plainly, “no one takes offence. We
all have the same goal – to enforce the payment of parking
fee in this city, which is part of the revenue collection
exercise in most urban areas.”
We had reached the next street. I read the sign aloud,
“Serenity Street.”
“The quiet street…” Mr Mengi began to explain.
“Yes, please tell me why it was named Serenity,” I
implored.
“Look around; what do you see?”
“I see people seated quietly on marble seats, and no one
seems to have any care or burden.”
“Good observation,” Mr Mengi said. “Most people
often come here to relax, particularly if they don’t have
9
the time and energy to cross the main street to the public
park on the other side of the city centre.”
I began to feel the urge to relax on one of the seats,
not because I was tired, but to offer solidarity with the
morning occupants.
Mr Mengi had a way of reading people’s minds. “Are
you tempted to sit down?” he teased me. “Don’t blame
yourself; this street has the reputation of making one feel
like getting some rest. It’s one of the cleanest and quietest
in this city. Maybe you can warm one of these seats later
but for now we have work to do.”
On hearing this I quickly but carefully tapped the
side button of the tablet. The screen came alive and I
proceeded to feed the first car’s registration number on to
the gadget. Almost instantly, a text message bearing the
feedback appeared.
“This one has paid!” I reported.
“Good. The next one?”
“Let me see… Even this one.”
All the cars on Serenity Street at that time were
compliant.
“I have never apprehended any motorist on this street
for not having paid their parking fee.”
“Wow!” I said involuntarily. “Everyone here lives up to
the street’s expectation.” We both laughed at my joke. “No
one wants to bother anyone.”
10
We turned on to the next street. I read its sign aloud:
“Moshi Street.”
“Nicknamed Chimney Street,” Mr Mengi said. He
added, pointing, “You see that structure over there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you notice anything familiar?”
“Yes, the smoking bay. I have seen one in my home
town.”
“That is the designated smoking area in the Central
Business District or the CBD.”
“True to its nickname,” I observed, “the room exudes a
lot of smoke. Luckily, there are not many buildings on the
leeward side.”
Mr Mengi gestured to me to continue checking the
payment status of the cars on that street.
“I could not help but notice the big billboard on this
street about the hazards of smoking,” I said as I busied my
fingers. “The first car here is compliant.”
As I worked on the next car, I found myself wondering
aloud, “Do all those people smoking in there see the big
Ministry of Health warning displayed on that billboard? It
says down there: Smoking kills.”
Mr Mengi smiled. “It’s very difficult not to spot that
loud message. However, since smoking tobacco is not
illegal here, the government can only sensitise the people
about its dangers, and also designate smoking zones to
11
protect non-smokers as well as regulate the manufacturers
and retailers about whom to sell cigarettes to. If anyone is
caught smoking outside the designated zones, they will
be arrested and prosecuted. Likewise, if anyone is caught
selling cigarettes to persons under the age of eighteen,
they will face the music.”
“I have learnt in school that smoking can lead to lung
disease, heart disease, cancer, diabetes, damage to the
teeth, and discoloration of fingers.”
Mr Mengi patted my shoulder and added, “Yes, it can
also harm an unborn baby by damaging its lungs and
brain. Besides, it is hazardous to silent smokers.”
“Yes! We learnt about that too. Anyone seated or
standing next to someone who is smoking can be a silent
smoker. The people around smokers are at risk, especially
because they are inhaling tobacco smoke which is not
filtered.”
Mr Mengi looked at me admiringly. “I’m glad you
know that. You should always avoid being a silent smoker
by keeping a safe distance. You can help protect the other
people by sharing this useful information and also by
reporting anyone who is breaking the law about smoking.”
“Do… Do you smoke, Mr Mengi?” I asked nervously.
“You don’t have to be nervous when asking that
question; it’s a good question,” he assured me. “No, I don’t
smoke. I have never desired to smoke, and I would advise
you not to.”
12
“I will heed to your advice, Sir,” I promised. “None of
my family members and friends smokes either.”
“Good.”
We walked in silence as I keyed in car registration
numbers on the pad to check their compliance. At one
point a motorist interrupted me as I began to feed her
car’s registration details. She said she was new in our city
and requested us to assist her on the payment procedure.
Mr Mengi gladly showed her how to pay for parking as I
checked the rest of the cars on that street.
Then we moved on to Usafi Street. Mr Mengi pointed
at some structure and said, “That public toilet has made
this street a difficult one to manage.”
“May I ask why?”
Mr Mengi explained, “Many motorists make brief
stopovers here to relieve themselves. Therefore, at any
given time, vehicles are stopping as others are exiting. We
have had to settle disputes between motorists fighting for
parking spaces, not because they want to stay, but because
they want to relieve themselves and then leave. Some want
to finish with the restroom before any parking attendant
can spot them so that they can leave without paying the
required fee.”
Mr Mengi added that it was not uncommon for a
motorist to stop his car in the middle of the road, put
hazard lights on to indicate that his car has broken down
13
and dash to the toilet. “We have occasionally had to station
a traffic marshal here to ensure that those rogue motorists
are prevented from obstructing other road users,” he
explained. I made a mental note to visit the street one
day to observe some of the things he told me about the
dramatic things motorists did on this street.
****
I spent the rest of the afternoon reading a coffee table book
on the history of the county, taking particular interest in
the parking and traffic control department. I was glad to
learn that automation was one of the plans the department
was already implementing. I looked forward to the next
day when, as promised by Mr Mengi, I would be operating
the monitoring gadget full-time.
On my way home that evening, I passed through
Uzima Street to see if the clamped car had been towed
away. What I witnessed shocked me to the bone. From a
distance, I saw a man approach the pale blue car. The man,
who was not in the city parking staff uniform, unclamped
the car, then he put the clamp in the boot and drove away.
I did not imagine a motorist could be handed the keys to
unclamp his car after paying the fine. If one was allowed
to remove the clamp, would he also be allowed to take it
away? As I walked to the commuter station to board a bus,
I resolved that I would get the answers from Mr Mengi the
following day.
14
I woke up early the following day. I was eager to go back to
the city streets where I would continue experiencing life
in the central business district. I borrowed a smartphone
from my sister who had arrived the previous evening from
her university some three counties away. They had closed
for the November–December holidays the previous day,
and today she would be travelling to our grandparents’
rural home to visit them, as she always did on her second
day home from college. It was easy for her to release her
expensive device to me since she would not need it much
due to scarcity of network coverage at our home village.
I got to town at six-thirty in the morning. As I walked
past Uzima Street on my way to the office, I kept searching
for the pale blue car. I was a bit disappointed at not finding
it at the spot it had been parked the previous day. Soon I
joined Serenity Street and once again I felt the urge to sit
on the majestic marble seats. I succumbed to my desire
and walked to one of the seats and sat down, facing the
parking lot.
Chapter Two
15
There was a young couple seated some five seats away,
so I felt safe. However, I resisted the temptation to remove
my sister’s phone from the inner pocket of my heavy jacket.
I still remembered her stern warning as we parted that
morning. She had warned me against showing the phone
to ‘every Tom, Dick and Harris’ unless I wanted to lose it
to muggers or con artists. To rub it in, she had added that
if I lost her phone, I would have to remain behind as the
rest of them went on holiday the following month. That
way, we would save the money our parents would spend
on me so that we replace her phone.
Our holiday trip that year was going to be very unique.
Our parents had promised to take us to the Maasai
Mara Game Reserve over the December festive season, a
departure from the usual trips we had been taking to the
coast. I would not want to risk forfeiting my first encounter
with the famous Mara, which I had learnt in Social
Studies that it hosts one of the seven modern wonders of
the world, the Wildebeest Migration. There would be no
migration in December, but that did not water down my
anticipation.
I patted the phone as if to tell it to relax for I was not
going to bother it for fear of losing it. “I can’t afford to
miss this coming trip,” I whispered to myself.
My juicy trip thoughts were cut short by the sight of
the pale blue car. It was moving slowly down the street. Its
driver was obviously looking for a place to park. He found
16
one just a few metres from where I sat. As he wheeled the
car into the parking lot, the couple I had found seated
nearby decided to leave. The pale blue car driver waited
for them to leave before he came out. I lowered my head
and pretended to be asleep. However, I kept an eye on him.
The driver went round and opened the boot. He pulled
out a clamp and looked around to ensure no one was
watching him. He then walked to the front right-hand side
of his car and fastened the clamp on its tyre. He looked
around again and seemed to be satisfied, so he walked
away. I wished I could have taken a video of all that scene.
Anyhow, I looked around to ensure no one was watching
me. I removed the phone from the inner pocket and took
three pictures of the car and its clamped wheel.
No sooner had I entered the office than I showed Mr
Mengi the three pictures I had taken of the self-clamped
car.
Mr Mengi asked, “Are you sure you saw the motorist
clamp his own car?”
“Yes, I did,” I answered, eager to tell the whole story,
including what I had witnessed the previous evening. “Let
me start from the beginning. On my way home yesterday,
I bumped into this same man. I saw him unclamp his
car, throw the clamp into his car boot and drive away. I
couldn’t take any photos for I didn’t have a camera…”
17
A/w 2 – M a j a n i w a t c h e s a s t h e d r i v e r/o w n e r o f t h e
p a l e b l u e c a r c l a m p s h i s o w n c a r. T h e c a r i s p a r k e d a t a
q u i et e r st r e et t h a n t h e o n e o f y e st e r d a y. M a j a n i i s s e a t e d a t
a m a r b l e s e a t s o m e 30 m et r e s a w a y p r et e nd i n g t o b e a s l e e p,
b u t l oo k i n g f r o m t h e c o r n e r o f h i s e y e.
He then walked to the front right-hand side of his car
and fastened the clamp on its tyre.
18
“Just as well you didn’t have a camera,” Mr Mengi
interrupted. He could tell my surprise at his comment, so
he quickly explained. “If a bad guy spots you filming him,
he can harm you. Please carry on with your story.”
“When I got to town this morning, I was curious to
spot the pale blue car and find out if it was clamped again.
I looked for it along Uzima Street to no avail. I went and
sat at Serenity Street. Then the car came down the street
and stopped at a parking slot near me. Its driver came out,
spied his environs before he removed a clamp from the car
boot. Then he fastened it on the front right-hand side tyre.
He looked around again before hastily walking away.”
“I’m glad you only took the pictures after the man
had left the scene,” Mr Mengi said as he studied the
photographs. He added as he handed me my phone,
“Please forward these pictures to my phone.”
As I busied my fingers, I paid attention to what Mr
Mengi was saying. “There seems to be a racket in this city
to deny our county revenue. This man must be working
closely with other motorists. We shall investigate this
scam. Keep your mouth shut about it; you never know,
perhaps some of our officers are involved. Do you
understand, Majani?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Let’s go out and do our usual patrol.”
19
Mr Mengi handed me the tablet as he led the way out
of this office.
We started off at Uzima Street, then proceeded to
Serenity Street. Mr Mengi secretly took a video of the
clamped pale blue car as I continued checking the payment
status of the other cars. We found one car that had not
paid the parking fee. He promptly called a reinforcement
officer from a nearby street to come and clamp it.
We roamed from street to street the whole morning.
Mr Mengi kept showing me any new car we found on any
street. I was amazed at his sharp memory; he could tell
which car had parked at any street after our previous visit
to that street.
Noon found us working along Usafi Street. As Mr
Mengi had said the previous day, we witnessed as a
motorist rounded the street twice looking for an empty
parking bay. At some point he stopped the car in the
middle of the road, opened its bonnet and dashed to the
public toilet. He came out two minutes later, only to find
a traffic marshal waiting for him. The marshal gave the
apologetic man a piece of paper.
“The naughty motorist has been booked for an offence,”
Mr Mengi explained. “He will have to appear at the Town
Hall Court where he will explain why he should not pay a
fine for obstructing other motorists.”
“But the man was under pressure,” I tried to reason
out. “Why can’t you forgive him since he didn’t intend to
20
park his car on the road? He had to answer to the urgent
call of nature.”
“If we exercise too much leniency, all the motorists will
be leaving their cars on the road to answer to the call of
nature. That will render this road impassable.”
“So that man will have to find time to appear in court?”
I wondered aloud. “Supposing he doesn’t belong here, that
he was just passing by? Won’t he lose his valuable time?”
“Road courtesy requires that you respect other
motorists’ right of way. Their time is as precious as yours.
People should work on their countenance if they can’t
control their intake of fluids.”
I still wanted to argue further. Mr Mengi nodded to me
to go on. “Supposing the man has a condition that makes
it difficult for him to hold urine for long? I have read that
people who suffer from diabetes experience sudden and
intense pressure and must relieve themselves in a toilet or
else they will do it involuntarily on their clothes.”
Mr Mengi laughed as he patted my shoulder. “I like your
argument, Majani. But let’s leave that to the magistrate to
decide if he or she will let the suspected offender go scot-
free. The offender is likely to argue that his car had broken
down, but the traffic marshal will testify that he saw him
dash into the toilet. He will also explain why the stalled
car suddenly decided to work when the marshal offered to
call a towing service provider.”
21
“I get it,” I admitted. “He knows that it will cost him
some good amount of money to pay for towing. Therefore,
he claims that the car surprisingly repaired itself.”
Mr Mengi laughed. “You really are a sharp young man,
Majani. I truly admire you.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Besides,” Mr Mengi added, “he could also argue that
he was uncontrollably pressed due to a health condition he
has. But, as I said, it will be up to the magistrate to analyse
his argument vis-à-vis the right of the other road users.
Does going to look for a mechanic or seeking to ease one’s
pressure justify the obstruction of other motorists?”
“Speaking of pressure, kindly allow me to pop into the
loo,” I said, smiling. “I’m a bit pressed.”
“Sure. Take this.” He handed me a ten-shilling coin.
“You will need to pay.”
“Oh no, I have some one-shilling coins.”
“Take this coin, anyway,” Mr Mengi insisted as if he
knew something I did not know.
It turned out that Mr Mengi knew something I did not
know. When I handed the toilet attendant ten one-shilling
coins, she declined, saying they never accepted such coins
there. I tried to explain that a shilling coin was still a legal
tender in the country. She retorted that their customers
were not accepting one-shilling coins as change and so the
attendants had also decided not to take such coins from
the customers.
22
When I rejoined Mr Mengi, he said jokingly, “I saw
you were detained at the entrance. I bet you gave them the
one-shilling coins and they declined. I knew you would
need the ten-shilling coin.”
I regarded him admiringly and said, “Yes, you were
right. I would have started sweating if you had not given
me the ten-shilling coin.”
****
Later that evening, Mr Mengi and I, accompanied by two
plain-clothed security officers from our department, laid
a trap on the self-clamping man and took a video of him
as he urgently unclamped his tyre, tossed the clamp in
the car boot and drove away. The security officers had
cautioned us against making the motorist suspicious of
what we were doing.
As usual Mr Mengi noticed that I was troubled and
came to my rescue again. “Young man, I can see you have
a question,” he said as he dismissed me for the day. “What
is bothering you?”
I felt at ease as I asked, “Why didn’t your security
officers arrest that man, yet you caught him red-handed?”
“We think there are other people who, like him, are
stealing from our city either through self-clamping or
other means,” he explained. “If we arrest him now, we
may never know how many others are involved in this
fiendish plot to defraud the public.”
23
“What will happen then?”
“We have alerted our security officers to position
themselves across the CBD and spy on the racketeers.”
“I see,” I said, nodding.
“Good,” Mr Mengi said. “You must leave now before
the queues at the bus park grow longer.”
“Thank you, Sir. I have learnt a lot today.”
“Come prepared to learn more tomorrow,” Mr Mengi
said, smiling contentedly.
“I can’t wait to see those bad people being apprehended.
Tomorrow will be their fortieth day,” I joked.
Mr Mengi laughed and patted my shoulder. “Goodbye,
Majani!” he said.
“Thank you, Sir. Goodbye!”
24
Day Three of my internship at the city parking and traffic
control department presented to me experiences I had
least expected. To begin with, the pale blue car did not
show up in spite of the dragnet laid by the enforcement
officers. I will tell you more about this later. Then there
was this man who wanted to rob me in broad daylight.
It all happened as I walked to the office from the bus
park. I must have been so preoccupied with the scenes
of the previous day that I dropped my guard. Instead
of focusing on where I was going, my eyes were darting
from one end to the other as I panned the parking lots
looking for our target car. My attention was drawn by a
well-groomed young man who appeared to be blocking
my way. He was showing me a wallet whose owner had
unknowingly dropped on the ground.
“You can pick it up,” he said gently.
“No!” I said. “It’s not mine.”
He bent down and picked it up. “It contains loads
of orange notes!” he announced as he waved it at me. I
Chapter Three
25
understood him to mean that it contained many one-
thousand-shilling notes. “Come on, let’s go to that
secluded alley and share the notes between us.”
“No please,” I insisted, “I don’t want the money.”
“Why not?”
“I think you should give it to a police officer to trace
the owner.”
He burst out laughing. “In this sea of humanity?
How do you think the police will trace the owner of this
wallet?” He laughed again, making me feel silly for giving
a seemingly outrageous suggestion.
I stood my ground though. “The wallet could contain
some identifying documents.”
He edged closer as he persuaded me to follow him. I
sensed that he was trying to hypnotise me, so I stepped
away. Then I saw another young man approach us. He
was equally well-groomed. Just like the first one, he was
dressed in a black suit. The only thing that told them
apart was that the first one was in a white shirt whereas
the second one was in a cream yellow shirt.
I sensed that I was in danger. I quickly looked around
and saw a middle-aged man walking along an adjacent
street. “That’s my uncle over there!” I exclaimed as I broke
into a trot. I glanced over my shoulder and was relieved to
see that the two men were not pursuing me. I think I must
have seen them laughing together, which confirmed my
suspicions that they knew each other well.
26
I had heard stories of how an unsuspecting person
would be tricked to follow a fraudster into a dark alley and
end up losing his or her money at the lure of the money
that was meant to be shared. In one of the stories, a boy
was reported to have been robbed of all his fees on his
way back to school. The boy had got so stranded in the
big city that the police had to get him bus fare back to his
parents. I never got to know what happened to him, but I
still cringe when I imagine how many other learners may
have fallen prey to tricksters.
I should now take you back to the pale blue car story,
but let me first narrate to you the second part of the well-
groomed young men story. Yes, our paths crossed again
later that morning. Not directly though.
It happened that as Mr Mengi and I patrolled the
streets checking parking compliance and searching for
the pale blue car, shouts of Thief! Thief! broke out at
the intersection of Usafi Street and Moshi Street. No
sooner had we turned to catch the spectacle than we were
confronted by a shouting match between a dreadlocked
young man clad in a ragged jeans and two young men
dressed in neat black suits. The latter were the same men I
had encountered a few hours earlier.
The young man in dreadlocks, who was carrying a
laptop bag and a smartphone, was desperately pointing at
the suited men as he shouted Thief! Thief! At the same
27
time, the suited men were pointing at the dreadlocked
man as they shouted Thief! Thief!
A crowd gathered quickly around the three men.
At first, people were at a loss as to whom to believe.
However, the black suited men seemed to be outshouting
the dreadlocked man. Before long, the crowd took sides
with the men in black. The mob grabbed the outshouted
man and started interrogating him. He explained that the
suited men had attempted to snatch his laptop bag and
smartphone, and that when he shouted ‘Thief! Thief!’,
they also started shouting ‘Thief! Thief!’.
At this point the suited men raised their voices and
explained that the dreadlocked man had snatched their
laptop bag and smartphone, and when he realised that
there was nowhere to hide, he decided to shout Thief!
Thief! in a fake attempt to confuse onlookers. There was
a bit of ping-pong as the two parties tried to outwit each
other. Eventually, the popular verdict came out: The man
in ragged jeans was the thief!
A heavily built man promptly snatched the laptop bag
and smartphone from him, then he announced that once
the “public court” was done confirming that the “stolen”
items belonged to the men in black, the crowd would
administer justice to the “convicted” thief. Someone
announced that he had brought in a worn out tyre to use
in setting the thief on fire.
28
A/w 3 – A d r e a d l o c k e d y o u n g m a n i n r a g g e d b l u e j e a n s
(i t’s n o t t o r n, b u t i t h a s d e si g n e r h o l e s), c a r r y i n g a r u c k s a c k
a nd b i g sm a r t p h o n e. T h e s m a r t p h o n e i s c o n n e c t e d t o
a n e a r p h o n e c a b l e t h a t g o e s t o h i s l e f t e a r (t o l i st e n t o
m u si c). H e i s p o i n t i n g a t t w o y o u n g m e n i n b l a c k s u i t s a nd
m a t c h i n g t i e s – o n e i n a w h i t e s h i r t a nd t h e o t h e r i n a c r e a m
y e ll o w s h i r t. T h e m e n a r e a l s o s h o u t i n g a nd p o i n t i n g a t t h e
d r e a d l o c k e d y o u n g ma n. C a p t u r e t h e s h o u t i n g m a t c h.
There was a bit of ping-pong as the two parties tried to
outwit each other.
29
At the mention of an upcoming confirmation, the men
in black started looking for an escape route. The burly
man was keenly watching them. He pointed at them and
asked whether they were trying to exit the scene of crime.
One of them broke into a run, but he was arrested by
the surging crowd. When confronted to explain why he
needed to escape from the public courtroom, he confessed
that he had been tricked by his compatriot to implicate the
man in ragged jeans.
The verdict was immediately reversed, and the men
in black were pronounced guilty. Immediately, the crowd
turned on them, baying for their blood. Luckily, four
heavily armed police officers arrived at the scene. They
had been attracted by the commotion as they did their
patrol on the city streets. They managed to quell the wrath
of the crowd that was closing in, ready to pounce on the
men in black.
For a while I could not move. I was in a daze. My brain
had frozen due to the fright of what I had just witnessed.
To say the least, my heart was in my mouth as I imagined
what could have befallen the dreadlocked young man or,
later, the men in black had the police not arrived at the
scene in the nick of time.
As I stood there wondering what to do next, someone
tapped my shoulder. I jumped in fright as I turned to face
the person who had touched me. I was relieved to see Mr
30
Mengi standing next to me. I almost hugged him. He had
been there all this while, but the spectacle had arrested my
mind so much that I had forgotten that I had company.
“Have you learnt anything from all this, Majani?” Mr
Mengi asked me.
“A lot!” I answered, happy that he had asked me. “I
should always be careful when I’m out here. When thieves
fail to steal from you, they could implicate you and land
you into a deathly situation – like the one the man in the
deliberately torn jeans found himself in.”
“Don’t let anyone out here know or think that you are
walking around carrying a smartphone.”
“I dare not!”
“Good,” Mr Mengi said, then he motioned me to
start moving. “Let’s go and look for the defaulting cars,
including the self-clamped ones.”
****
Back to the pale blue car story. We could not find it on
this day. We strolled from street to street and from road
to road. We even checked in the narrow alleys between
blocks of buildings, but the car was nowhere to be found.
“What could have happened to the car?” I asked,
deeply concerned. “I think its owner could have suspected
something about the dragnet.”
31
“What makes you think he could have become
suspicious?” Mr Mengi asked.
“Well, yesterday you cautioned me against letting the
cat out of its bag. You hinted that the rogue motorist
could be working in cahoots with some of your colleague
officers. Perhaps a collaborating officer sent him a signal.”
“Wow! You really have an analytical mind in addition
to your sharp memory.” Mr Mengi motioned me to walk
on as he explained. “A lot of things could have happened
to the man. Perhaps he is off-duty today. Or perhaps he
has travelled out of town. His car might have broken
down forcing him to use a taxi or a public service bus.
What else do you think could have happened?” He asked
menacingly, as if he knew the answer to his question.
I always like a good challenge, so I gladly offered, “He
could also have gone for a meeting somewhere in a hotel
where free parking is provided.”
“Excellent!” Mr Mengi exclaimed. “He might have
been sent to a conference or any other meeting away from
his office. As a matter of fact, there’s this two-day climate
change conference that started today in one of the big
hotels within the metropolitan region.”
“Does this mean we will have to wait for two days
before we can apprehend the man?”
“Yes, but we shall hotly pursue any accomplices he
might have.”
32
I involuntarily scratched my nape.
“I can see you have another question.”
“Yes, yes,” I said happily. “Could our suspect have
decided to work from home today?”
“That’s another high possibility. Working from home
is a trend that is fast gaining traction in several companies
around the world. Many employees have opted to continue
working remotely, as it is called, in the aftermath of the
COVID-19 pandemic which had forced employers to set
their staff up to work from home.”
I could identify with what my supervisor was saying.
“My parents work from home quite often,” I reported. “In
fact, my father has made it a tradition to work from his
study room every Monday and Tuesday. My mother’s day
is Thursday.”
“Nowadays, people don’t have to commute to the office
every time they need to meet. Advancement in technology
has enabled us to hold virtual meetings any time of the
day. Besides, the attendance of meetings has improved as
apologies decrease.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“You see, no one can claim that they could not make
it to the venue due to this or that obstacle along the way.”
“My father always attends a virtual meeting every
Monday morning. I’ve heard him say that he no longer
feels harassed every Monday morning trying to beat the
33
jam, as it used to happen in the past when he had to go for
this early morning meeting at the office.”
“Overcoming the challenge of distance has helped
save a lot of time that was being spent on the road, rail
and air,” Mr Mengi paused. “However, this technological
advancement has occasioned certain issues. One of these
is the infringement of people’s privacy and safety.”
Mr Mengi paused again and glanced at me to ensure I
was following. I was all attentive.
“You see, some bosses have directed their staff to join
meetings at odd hours to discuss emergencies. So, there’s a
tendency for meetings to be scheduled after office working
hours.”
I smiled knowingly. Mr Mengi urged me to speak.
“There was an evening my mum was asked to join
an impromptu meeting. At exactly the same time, I was
scheduled to join a virtual class – this was during the
pandemic time when schools were closed. If my dad had
not carried his laptop with him that evening, I would have
missed my class.”
“That was a dilemma situation,” Mr Mengi said. “I
suppose you have been warned about the dangers of the
internet.”
“Yes, there are risks of addiction and time-wasting as
well as exposure to harmful content, cyberbullying and
cybercrime.”
34
“I believe you are taking precautions to avoid falling
prey.”
“Absolutely!” I responded, trying to look good, although
I knew the temptation was high.
Mr Mengi must have been reading my mind. He
cautioned, “The internet and electronic devices can be
very tempting; so be sure to exercise self-restraint in
regard to them.”
“I will.”
“Well,” Mr Mengi announced, “it has been quite an
eventful morning. Let’s go for lunch, then we shall retreat
to the office to do some paperwork before the day ends.”
35
“What would you like to have for lunch?” Mr Mengi asked
as he led me across Uzima Street.
“Chips!” I answered without thinking.
“I know a joint that sells the best chips in town.”
“Take me there please.”
“Is chips your favourite meal?”
I chuckled as I looked for a suitable answer. “Not quite,”
I said. “I’m often dissuaded from eating chips frequently.
Mum says it is one of the deep-fried dishes, and so it can
harm the body, depending on the amount and frequency
of servings.”
“Your mum is right. In fact, it gets more harmful if
cooked using saturated fats.”
“Yes, we learnt in Home Science that too much intake
of saturated fats can lead to a build-up of cholesterol in
one’s arteries, which increases the risk of heart disease.”
“Do you know how to tell which fats are saturated and
which ones are not?” Mr Mengi asked, teasingly.
Chapter Four
36
“Yes, saturated fats tend to solidify at room temperature.
In fact, the other name for them is ‘solid fats’.”
“Good, but remember that fats are not entirely bad,
our bodies need a careful measure of fat. You know, even
milk, butter and meats have saturated fats, but I wouldn’t
advise you to stop taking them entirely because there are
certain nutrients you derive from them.”
“So you won’t take offence if I take chips for lunch
today?” I asked, worried that my choice that day would be
struck off the menu.
Mr Mengi patted my shoulder and said, “Just desist
from eating too much of fats every day, young man, and
your body will thank you for it.”
“My mum says, moderation is key.”
“It certainly is.”
We rounded a high building, then Mr Mengi
announced, pointing, “Here we are! That’s the famous
Market Stalls, popularly known as ‘Market’. And that’s the
Giant Plate Café, famed for their giant servings of chips
and every other dish. Even fish here is served in a tray as
you can see in those pictures.”
True to its name, the servings at Giant Plate Café were
hugely generous. I almost ran away when my plate of chips
landed in front of me. I found myself looking over my
shoulders to ascertain that my parents were not anywhere
near us. Dad would have jumped over to our table and
whisked the chips away in order to reduce them. In the
37
next few minutes, the only sound audible from our table
was the clatter of cutlery on my giant plate as I fought to
clear the deep-fried potato chips.
Mr Mengi was smart enough to have asked for an empty side
plate to reduce his generous serving of ugali (a thick paste
of maize flour) that was served with a traditional vegetable
called managu (African nightshade). He explained that he
knew he could not finish the food. Therefore, he chose to
reduce it and donate to someone else who could not afford
to buy himself or herself food. That gesture of generosity
made me admire Mr Mengi more.
When we came out of Giant Plate Café and Market
Stalls, Mr Mengi received a telephone call. He listened
keenly, occasionally nodding to signal comprehension.
As I waited for him to finish with his caller, I fed my
eyes with what was happening around us. Three young
men were arguing over who had the right to receive a tip
from a female motorist they had just helped to park her
car on that street. One was saying that he showed the lady
the empty parking lot, another was saying he helped her
to reverse into the narrow space, and the third was saying
he guided her on how to pay the parking fee using the new
digital system.
The lady challenged any two of them to surrender
to one of them to get the tip. They started pushing and
shoving one another. I heard her tell them that she
38
would leave and come back after they had agreed amicably.
Besides, she shouted at them, she was not obliged to give
them anything. That she still would have done without
their help whatever they claimed to have helped her to
do. Immediately after she left, they started blaming each
other for the loss of free lunch. They were rescued by a
male motorist who slowed down to signal that he was
looking for an empty parking lot.
In another scene, a man narrowly escaped being hit
by a speeding motorcycle as he crossed the street. He
was sagging under a sack full of potatoes. The sack was
so full that it had a two-foot protrusion of a meshed up
thread to hold extra potatoes in place. I had to make way
for him to enter Market Stalls to deliver the giant sack at
Giant Plate Café. I had seen overstuffed sacks of potatoes
before, but this one threatened to win a mention in the
Guinness Book of Records. I wondered why potatoes had
to be overstuffed like that.
“This is what stiff competition compels traders to do,”
Mr Mengi explained. I had been so absorbed with the
scene of the heavy laden porter that I did not notice him
staring at me after he ended his call.
I was relieved to get an answer to my unvoiced question.
“You mean there can’t be another way?” I asked. “Why
can’t people use two sacks instead of modifying one with
such a funny protrusion?”
39
A/w 4 – A man carrying a heavy, overstuffed sack of
p o t a t o e s u r g e n t l y c r o s si n g a b u s y st r e et h e a d t o G ia n t P l a t e
c a f é. S h o w c l e a r l y t h e ov e r st u f f e d s a c k w i t h a t h r e a d m e s h
h o l d p o t a t o e s e x t e nd i n g u p t o 2 f e et f r o m t h e m a i n s a c k. H e
i s n e a r l y h i t b y a m o t o r c y c l e.
In another scene, a man narrowly escaped being hit by
a speeding motorcycle as he crossed the street.
40
“Impression.”
“Impression? As in, what you’re seeing is what you
think you’re getting?”
“Precisely. Overstuffed sacks give the impression that
the buyer is getting more than he bargained for. All the
potatoes in the protrusion are added to the buyer for free.
The bigger the excess load, the more chances you have of
selling.”
“Why don’t they make bigger sacks?”
“They would still add the meshed elongation to give
the impression that they have stuffed more than enough
potatoes. It’s competition.”
Mr Mengi could see that I was still at a loss.
“Actually, it is against our by-laws to overstuff the
sacks. It is unhygienic to carry food without fully covering
it. It is also risky as one can cause an accident.”
“Yes,” I found my voice again. “I noticed that that man
almost got knocked down by a motorcycle as he crossed
the street.”
“That’s because he could not see well. His grossly wide
load was obstructing his view.”
Mr Mengi gestured to me to start moving. “We need
to go back to the office at once. Our boss has called for
a meeting. The ‘Operation Net Self-Clamped Cars’ squad
has discovered four cars that were self-clamped. The
officers had put a discreet identifying mark on all the
clamps that were being used today. The clamps on these
41
four cars do not carry the mark, meaning they did not
come from our enforcement section. During our meeting
this afternoon, we shall fine-tune our net in order to
capture the four rogue motorists.”
As we rounded the corner to enter Serenity Street, all
hell broke loose. We were confronted by a stampeding
mob of street vendors running away from city by-laws
enforcement officers who were attempting to arrest them
for displaying and selling their wares at places that were
out of bounds for hawkers. We ducked into a shoe shop to
avoid being trampled on. The attendants immediately shut
the door and pulled the anti-burglar panels, explaining
that they had to keep looters at bay.
“Some people take advantage of the turbulent situation
to loot the shops,” Mr Mengi explained to me. “Once that
mob has passed, this door will be opened and we will be
on our way.”
“I saw the fleeing crowd pelting your enforcement
officers with stones,” I said. “Are they trying to fight
back?”
“The hawkers have been resisting eviction for weeks
now,” Mr Mengi replied. “During the electioneering
period, they had been allowed to sell their wares in the
CBD, but when the new leadership took over after the
general election, it ordered them out of the CBD. Fierce
battles ensued, rendering the city centre uninhabitable.
A truce was called in which the hawkers were allowed
to operate at some designated streets but only after four
42
o’clock in the afternoon. Some elements have, however,
been sneaking into the restricted areas, occasioning the
running battles like the one we are witnessing now as our
officers try to keep them in check.”
An uneasy calm resumed after about ten minutes.
When we ventured out of the shoe shop, Mr Mengi led me
through a winding route as we avoided the hotspots of the
marauding hawkers. We passed through a street that was
famed for street preachers who delivered the Good News
to citizens lazing about the pavements during the lunch
hour.
I heard one of the preachers say that the world had run
out of time. That we were living on borrowed time. That
all the rat race people were engaging in nowadays was
futile. That we would leave all the things we were working
so tirelessly for down here on earth. That the wisest people
like himself had sold off everything they had as they
prepared for the take-off to heaven, which could happen
any time, even before he finished saying the word ‘time’.
The most scaring thing he said was that he had heard the
Messiah beeping ‘the way a car beeps’, alerting him that
he, the Messiah, would arrive within the next seven days.
I heard Mr Mengi chuckle, and I looked up at him
hoping to hear a word from him. He did not disappoint
my expectation.
“Beware of wrong doctrines,” he cautioned, sounding
like he was talking to himself. “No one knows the day and
43
the hour. Even the Messiah himself said he did not know.
So, don’t listen to some of these people who don’t even
know what they are talking about.”
We crossed to a quieter street, and Mr Mengi
continued talking. “I’m sure you heard about the sect
whose followers were lured into selling everything they
had and giving their leader all the money to pack it for
their take-off to heaven. When the end failed to come, he
vanished into thin air. He was to be arrested later, but the
people claiming to have given him their money had no
evidence to show the court, so he was acquitted.”
“Yes,” I said, “I heard about it.”
“The followers had even pulled their children out of
school,” Mr Maingi said. “It took the intervention of the
county department of education to resettle those children
in school. Some children required a lot of counselling.
They had been traumatised by the weeks of indoctrination
to a point where they desired nothing but death.”
Mr Mengi was walking rather too fast now. I noticed
that some rush had set in as motorists removed their cars
from the parking lots. The roads were filling up with
vehicles. A slight jam had built up at the intersection of
Usafi Street and Moshi Street. I also noticed that the sky
was overcast. Dark clouds were beginning to engulf the
metropolitan region.
44
“It seems like we will have to cancel our operation
this evening,” Mr Mengi regretted. “I’m sure the owners
of the self-clamped cars will also remove their cars. And
with a tense atmosphere like we have this afternoon due
to the riotous hawkers and the impending showers, our
operation will not work.”
Thunder blasted somewhere in the outskirts of the city.
We could tell that a heavy downpour was drifting towards
the city from the east.
“You need to leave before the rain catches up with us.
With all this rush that has built up, the rain will worsen
the traffic congestion. Let’s hurry to the office so that we
fill the register before the rain gets here.”
45
If I thought that Thursday would come so soon, then I
needed to think again. Wednesday was not going to be
wished away that fast. As I left the office to head home, I
had no idea that I was going to witness a long and difficult
evening.
I had walked barely half the distance to the bus park
when the sky above the city centre suddenly opened,
spewing heavy droplets of rain to the ground. The
droplets were hitting the rooftops of buildings with
rattling sounds. The few that hit my head felt like pebbles
launched from a catapult. I took cover under the canopy
of one of the nearby buildings.
I watched helplessly as the rain increased in intensity.
The marble-like drops were noisily hitting the ground and
rolling for a few inches before they melted to form storm
water that was fast gathering in the drainage trenches. I
wished I had carried an umbrella, but carrying one that
day had seemed far-fetched as the morning had given no
sign of a furious torrent like the one I was witnessing. I
felt helpless.
Chapter Five
46
A few hawkers emerged from nowhere carrying
umbrellas and busied themselves as they criss-crossed
the streets selling the umbrellas. I was impressed by their
enterprising spirit for within five minutes of the rains,
they were already out with their various types and sizes of
umbrellas, which were selling like hot cake.
I resisted the temptation to grab one of them. Mr
Mengi had warned me that whenever it rained, public
service vehicle operators had the tendency of increasing
their fares. Yet, I had declined his offer of some money to
cushion me against the eventuality of hiked fares.
After pounding furiously for fifteen minutes, the rain
subsided. I took advantage of the situation and broke into
a mad run, heading to the bus park. My heart sank when
I saw the winding queues at the bus park. The queue I
needed to join seemed to be the longest. The pounding
rain resumed, only that it was not as heavy as when it had
begun some twenty minutes earlier. A kind man behind
me shielded me under his umbrella.
I listened as people recalled similar rainy situations of
the past. There was a day when many people spent the
night at the bus park after a particular main road was cut
off by rains. The buses had no way of coming back to the
bus park, neither were the taxis able to move around.
A woman had to appeal for donations when a minibus
crew tripled their fare. She had spent all her money buying
47
medicines for her sick child, leaving only enough for the
usual fare. Passengers had commandeered a minibus to
a police station after the crew refused to give them their
right change arguing that they had to refuel their vehicle
after burning up all the fuel in the heavy traffic jam that
had been occasioned by heavy rains.
A fellow commuter had gone into labour during one
of the difficult trips home. Traffic had been disrupted by
an international conference that hosted dignitaries from
many countries. Women had quickly provided a shield
around the expectant mother. Thankfully, she had been
delivered of her baby safely without any complications.
They had named the boy Jam.
In spite of the distress we were all in, everyone managed
to laugh at the name. Or was it just the happy ending?
As we braved the rain on our queues, we received the
dreaded announcement that fares had been doubled.
There was a lot of grumbling among the commuters who
claimed that taking advantage of the rains to double fares
was not only unfair and unethical but was also robbery
without violence. On its part, the commuter vehicle
management argued that the rains had deprived them of
two trips, as their vehicles were stuck in traffic jams all
over the city.
I learnt that the vehicle loaders, popularly known as
touts, had a term for a round trip: ‘squad’. The touts raised
48
their voices saying that if commuters did not want to pay the
doubled fare, then they would not allow any vehicle to load.
Thecommuters threatened to call the police, but the touts
dared them, warning that the commuters would spend the
night at the park as the touts had express permission from
the bus owners to ground the buses should commuters
refuse to comply. They even joked that any available
police officer had been deployed to the roads to ease
traffic congestion.
The commuters lost the bargain. I would have got
stranded at the bus park had Mr Mengi not bought me
lunch that day, enabling me to save some money to add to the
amount I had been allocated for fare home.
At last I boarded a bus home. It was approaching eight
o’clock in the evening. I expected that my family would
be worried about me. I imagined that the storm and the
resultant traffic jam were all captured on television and
social media platforms. I had not dared check my sister’s
mobile phone for fear of exposing it to bad people. Now I
could safely find out who had looked for me.
My mother had texted to ask how I was doing. She had
texted again to say Dad wanted to know exactly where I
was to see if he could drive over to rescue me. In another
text ten minutes later, now from Dad’s line, Dad had
regretted that there was very little he could do because the
roads were impenetrable due to the traffic congestion.
49
I texted to say that my minibus was stuck at a
roundabout. I assured them that the police and city traffic
marshals were doing everything possible to get everyone
to their respective homes.
As soon as I finished texting and tucked the phone in
my jacket’s inner pocket, I busied my eyes with a police
inspector just about ten metres away who was rapidly
talking on his mobile phone. He must have been issuing
instructions to some people, and he appeared to be very
agitated.
Then something out of this world happened.
A motorcycle rider and his passenger did the
unimaginable.
At first I thought the motorcycle rider and his passenger
were pulling a funny stunt, but the events that followed
proved me wrong. I saw the motorcycle make as if to stop
right beside the police inspector. Then, in a split second,
the passenger snatched the inspector’s mobile phone and
the two daredevils sped off. Unfortunately for the daring
duo, a police rider appeared from nowhere and, having
witnessed the incident, swung into action, hotly chasing
after the phone snatchers.
The incident triggered an uproar in our bus as
passengers expressed varying views on this daring act.
Someone wondered aloud how safe any citizen was if law
enforcers were being robbed in broad daylight. Of course,
this one happened at night, but the point had been made.
50
A/w 5 – A p a s s e n g e r o n a m o t o r c y c l e s n a t c h i n g a p o l i c e
i n s p e c t o r’s m o b i l e p h o n e a t a r o u nd a b o u t w h e r e t h e
i n s p e c t o r i s c o n t r o ll i n g t r a f f i c. T h e r e i s a h u g e t r a f f i c j a m
o n e v e r y d i r e c t i o n. I t’s a r o u nd 8 p m a t n i g h t. T h i s i s s e e n
f r o m a w i nd o w o f a ma t a t u t h a t i s w a i t i n g t o b e a ll o w e d t o
e n t e r t h e r o u nd a b o u t.
Then, in a split second, the passenger snatched the
inspector’s mobile phone and the two daredevils sped
off.
51
As our bus received the much-needed hand signal to
enter the roundabout, I saw the police rider arrive and hand
back the stolen phone to his colleague. The commentators
on our bus took to the airwaves again advancing various
arguments to explain what must have happened to the
thieves.
I did not know what version to believe. The one saying
that they were shot at or the one saying they were arrested?
Or even the one arguing that they dropped the phone
when they realised they could not outrun the eighteen
hundred cubic capacity police bike? I could only speculate
and hope that the phone thieves were arrested and would
be taken to court.
We had to follow a longer route to get to our terminus
as some sections of our route had been flooded. I was
overjoyed to find my dad waiting for me at the terminus.
Everyone at home was relieved to see me.
52
I had difficulties waking up the following morning. I felt
so tired that I could not get up as swiftly as I was known
to. My father came up to my room to encourage me. He
sat at one edge of the bed, patted my shoulder and said,
“Son, the world of work requires one to be tough, come
rain come shine. You’ve done well in the past three days.
Brave yourself and go to work.”
He winked and smiled after he mentioned ‘work’, I
guess to signal that he did not mean I was employed. He
knew that I understood what he meant. My father and I
kept a very cordial relationship. He always made it easy for
me to understand things without having to explain them.
I smiled back and nodded. Then I musically said, “I
owe, I owe…”
We chorused together: “Off to work I go!”
We both laughed heartily, and with that I felt a burst of
energy run through my body, enabling me to get up and
prepare for work. Before I left the house, my father gave
me some money to buy a tracksuit that I desired to wear
during our festive season travel.
Chapter Six
53
I arrived at the office at seven-thirty. Mr Mengi gestured
to me to let him complete a telephone conversation he was
having. I gestured back that it was okay. We would do our
morning briefing as soon as he was available.
I walked to the coffee pause and made myself a cup
of cardamom tea. Then I busied myself reading the day’s
newspapers. I started with the sports section, for I am a
sports enthusiast. My favourite local football club had
extended its lead in the league standings by beating our
old rivals – whom we called ‘in-laws’ – by three goals to
nothing.
I am a diehard fan of the World Rally Championship.
The newspapers reminded me that the last round of the
year’s rally championship was just around the corner. My
favourite rally driver and his closest rival were neck-to-
neck after the previous round in Central Europe. Only
sixteen seconds separated them. I promised myself the
fun of watching the two speed masters battle it out in
Japan in a week’s time. I would get the licence to watch all
the action on television, now that schools would be closed for
the long holiday.
I was finishing taking my flavoured tea when Mr
Mengi came over and beckoned me. I followed him to the
boardroom.
“The self-clamp special force decided to hold a meeting
early today,” he told me.
I instinctively scratched my nape.
54
“Yes, Majani, we have formed a squad to hunt for the
self-clamping motorists. We are calling it the Self-Clamp
Special Force,” Mr Mengi explained. “You are one of us,
Majani.”
“I am?” I could not believe what I had just heard.
“Yes, you are. It’s because of your keenness that we
came to discover the self-clamping racket. So, you will
accompany us. However, you are not allowed to come out
of the van.”
“The van whose windows and windscreen are
reinforced with a metal grill?” I asked.
“Yes, that one.”
I had been seeing several grilled vans patrolling the
city centre. On numerous occasions, the vans would be
full of people who had been arrested breaking one by-law
or another. These included smoking outside the designated
areas, stepping on manicured lawns, talking or texting on
mobile phone while crossing the road, hawking goods at
prohibited areas, or even crossing the road outside the
pedestrian crossing stripes. I had never imagined I could
ride in one of such vans.
During the meeting, it was decided that plain-clothed
enforcement officers would be stationed near the self-
clamped cars to waylay the owners and arrest them
as they unclamped their cars. One of the vans would
move around to monitor the operation and call for
reinforcements if any were needed.
55
The officers were shown the identifying mark that was
discreetly installed on the clamps that would be issued out
that day. It was a miniature sticker, one square centimetre
in size, that was attached on the outer side of the clamp.
As the officers patrolled the parking lots, they would
secretly take pictures of each clamp fastened on a car
wheel, then they would zoom in on the picture to check if
the clamp had any sticker on it.
If any clamp was found to be missing the sticker,
information would be relayed to the command station in
the office, and a plain-clothed officer would be deployed
to hang around the offending car, waiting for the owner
to return.
After the briefing, we all took our assigned positions
around the central business district. Within an hour, five
cars were identified as lacking the sticker.
“Your pale blue car is one of them,” Mr Mengi told me
as we drove along Uzima Street in our van.
“Luckily, the smart motorist came back to the city
centre!” I said jubilantly.
“Yes, we are pleased to have him back,” Mr Mengi
commented.
We both laughed at his joke. At that time, I spotted the
car.
“There it is!” I exclaimed.
“Shh!” Mr Mengi cautioned. “Don’t let him see you
pointing at his car. He could suspect that he is being
watched and alert his gang members.”
56
“I thought we have them covered.”
“There could be more. Let’s wait and see what else we
can spot before evening.”
As per the briefing during the morning meeting, the
uniformed parking enforcement officers were to move in
to lock each clamp with a designated padlock from the
office to deter any rogue motorist who might get wind of
the operation and dash to remove their car.
By mid-morning, the officers had discovered a sixth
car and fastened a padlock on its clamp. No extra vehicle
was netted by lunch time.
I remained anxious the whole day. I wished that the
rogue motorists would be arrested so that they stop
stealing from the public. I imagined that they could be
tipped about the operation and take cover. However, I was
assured by the morning declaration that if the owners
failed to show up, their cars would be towed to the holding
yard near our offices, and the police would be brought in
to pursue the owners.
What if the owner of one of the cars decided to leave
his or her car to stay at the parking lot overnight? This,
too, had been taken care of. The car would be towed to
the recovery yard and get detained there as we traced the
owner using the vehicle registration bureau.
During the lunch hour break, Mr Mengi took me
around to window-shop for the tracksuit my father had
57
given me money to buy. This is the tracksuit I would wear
during my trip to the Maasai Mara. The particular one I
was looking for was what we would call a new arrival.
We found it in five different boutiques, but bought it at
the third shop where the price was the most reasonable.
I gladly discovered that my supervisor was good at
bargaining. He sweet-talked the shop attendant to sell the
tracksuit at eighty percent of the tag price.
I had so thoroughly enjoyed listening to them haggling
over the price that I did not realise how pressed I was with
the need to use a toilet.
“I need to dash to Usafi Street,” I announced as soon as
we stepped out of the boutique.
Mr Mengi said, laughing, “You don’t have to run all the
way to Usafi Street. There are other toilets elsewhere.”
“Please take me to one of them as quickly as you can!”
We both laughed.
We trotted through an access alley that joined two
roads. Then he pointed and said, “That will give you your
much needed relief. I hope the queue won’t be long. The
population down here tends to be a bit higher.”
I held myself together as I rushed to the toilet. It was
after I came out that I noticed the words ‘TO LET’ on the
side of the structure.
58
A/w 6 – M a j a n i (1 5-y e a r-o l d b o y) p o i n t i n g a t t h e p u b l i c
t o i l et st r u c t u r e t o s h o w M r M e n g i t h e m i s l e a d i n g n a m e.
S h o w t h e n a m e w i t h t h e m i s s i n g ‘I’ t h a t h a s b e e n r u b b e d
o f f t o r e a d T O L E T (i n st e a d o f T O IL E T).
It was after I came out that I noticed the words ‘TO
LET’ on the side of the structure.
59
“Why would this public toilet be offered for letting?” I
asked Mr Mengi.
He laughed heartily as he patted my shoulder. “My
boy,” he said, “that name is corrupted.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone erased the letter ‘I’, and that changed
everything.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“In this downtown zone, a lot of things happen. That
person was trying to showcase either his creativity or his
malice.”
I looked again to see if I could detect any erasure.
Sure enough, I spotted the faded ‘I’. “I think I admire the
person’s creativity,” I said.
“Welcome to the so-called ‘downtown’. Here, you
will find road sign arrows that have been reversed, and
paintings of every kind on walls. You will even find
uncountable writings on walls showcasing what people
down here call street philosophy.”
“Is such writing also called graffiti?” I asked.
“Correct!”
“I recall seeing some graffiti in the urinal I used a few
minutes ago.”
“What did it say?”
“If you have nothing to do, don’t do it here.”
60
We both laughed heartily.
“I also saw something to do with shaking hands with
the devil,” I added. “I wonder what it means.”
Mr Mengi looked at me as if to warn me not to ask
certain questions. That only increased my curiosity. I was
disappointed when he said he did not know either.
“Today I want to give you a different lunch experience,”
Mr Mengi said. I could see he was seeking to change the
subject.
“Yes?”
“We shall have an egg sandwich and fruit salad. I’ll
show you the best vendor on this side of town.”
We reached the street that was designated for food
kiosks. It was behind Market Stalls, adjacent to the area
reserved for street hawkers.
I had the best egg sandwich I had ever eaten in my life.
It was perfectly seasoned, and the measure of chopped
tomatoes and onions was just accurate. The fruit salad did
not disappoint either. The serving was generous and the
mix was expertly selected. The vendor had made every
effort to include even the fruits that were out of season. To
crown it all, the price was pocket-friendly.
Mr Mengi paid for my lunch again. I narrated to him
my ordeal the previous evening and how his paying for
my lunch then had saved the day, or rather, the night.
61
“I hope today you won’t have to pay double for your
fare,” Mr Mengi said, smiling.
I quickly surveyed the sky, then said, “That will depend
on whether the rains will visit us again or not.”
We went back to the self-clamp command van where we
got an update on what had transpired in the past one hour.
The special force officers had not spotted any additional
self-clamped car. So, the tally remained six cars.
“Our officers are in place,” Mr Mengi announced.
“What remains now is for the rogue motorists to deliver
themselves into the officers’ hands.”
Then he added something that got me very excited
and anxious at the same time. “We have tipped some
journalists assigned to the crime reporting beat to be on
standby to cover the dramatic arrests.”
I instinctively rubbed my neck.
“Yes, Majani, feel free to ask your question.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I said. “Won’t there be any danger of
leakage of our top secret?”
“No, the crime reporters are very discreet. They know
that it is in the public interest that the bad elements in
the society are weeded out. So, they have been adequately
cautioned against raising any suspicion of the ongoing
operation. They have concealed their cameras; you can’t
tell whether there is any journalist around or not.”
62
“I see,” I said, relieved.
“So, the countdown continues,” Mr Mengi said, “the
countdown to the fortieth hour.”
“The fortieth hour? As in the fortieth day for the
thieves?”
“Yes!” Mr Mengi said jubilantly, though I could sense
anxiety in his voice. “It is approaching forty hours since
we planned this operation.”
“I see.”
“I will have to take you back to the office where we will
follow the action from the command station we have set
up there.”
“Why can’t we stay in our van and monitor everything
as the van is driven around?” I asked. I was eager to
capture all the action live. “Isn’t it safe to stay in the van?”
Mr Mengi regarded me with what I thought was pity.
“There could be confrontations between our officers
and the bad guys. Some scenes may turn ugly, and we
wouldn’t want to expose you to such.”
“This van has grill bars on all windows and on the
windscreen,” I found myself saying. I immediately
regretted having said that, for it now appeared like I
was defying my caring supervisor. “I’m sorry, I retract
my comment.”
“No, it’s okay to voice your observations. In fact, this
van is armoured. Do you know what that means?”
63
“No, Sir.”
“It means that besides the grill bars you can see on
the windows, the glass is bulletproof. You are protected
against anyone out there who may want to harm you when
you are in here.”
“Wow!” I exclaimed. “This is what my friends and I in
school would call ‘heavy stuff ’.”
“The reason you and I need to be kept out of this van
is that the security officers may use it to hold the bad guys
once they arrest them.” Mr Mengi explained, sounding
very serious.
“Okay, I understand.”
“Good. We shall walk to the office.”
64
It was approaching the fortieth hour since the operation
to arrest the self-clamping motorists was planned. Now
the time had come for it to become a reality. I would be
following the action from the office, which Mr Mengi had
declared to be a good vantage point for me. This meant
that I would be hearing it all as information got relayed
in real time from the walkie-talkies the field officers were
using to communicate.
At exactly five o’clock in the evening, a message came
through the communication receivers that the first
motorist had arrived at his respective arena. They had
already coded him Sierra 2, implying Suspect Two. The
voice went on: ‘Sierra 2 now is surveying his environs…
He seems satisfied that no one is watching him… Now he
squats to unclamp the wheel. Snaps up his padlock. He’s
now pulling apart the clamp. He looks concerned that the
clamp is too heavy to open.’ There was a pause.
At this point Mr Mengi winked at me and whispered,
“Wait for the surprise.” He sounded like he was addressing
Sierra 2 instead of me.
Chapter Seven
65
The reporting voice continued after a pause: ‘Sierra 2 is
now scrutinising the clamp. He finds the second padlock
– our padlock! He is shocked! He is looking around
suspiciously. He abruptly rises up. Our men pounce on
him as he whips out his mobile phone… They are reading
him his rights as they handcuff him… They lead him
to one of our mobile vans that has just arrived at the
scene. The towing vehicle is also edging closer to tow the
offending car away.’
I glanced at Mr Mengi. He was smiling broadly. “The
fortieth day has come for all these crooks,” he said with a
feeling of satisfaction.
“I’m curious to hear them capture the pale blue car,” I
whispered, unable to control my anxiety.
“That’s Sierra 1,” Mr Mengi clarified. “Stay calm;
your car is being watched very keenly. In fact, we have
positioned the leading crime reporter near it. He has
parked his car next to it.”
“Can I take notes so that I refer to them when I write a
story about this?” I asked.
“Yes, you can.”
“Thank you!”
A new voice came through the receivers: ‘Sending
from Uzima Street. Sierra 4 has arrived! He looks very
confident, or perhaps absent-minded. He’s not taking any
precautions at all. He must be listening to some music on
66
his phone through some earpieces. He can be seen rocking
his head rhythmically. He is unlocking his car door. He
gets in… He stretches to reach for something on the far
end of the dashboard. He’s coming out of the car. Seems
like he was picking the clamp key.’
Mr Mengi nodded and whispered, “Easy target.”
The voice continued: ‘He now opens the padlock. He
is trying to pull the clamp apart. It’s not yielding. He’s
beginning to check round it. Now he is in shock; he can’t
believe there is a second lock. I can see our men moving in.
He yanks the door open. He grabs his phone. He’s dialing
a number. Our men catch up with him and manage to
grab the phone.’
There was a brief silence from the Suspect Four scene
during which updates flowed in from the other scenes. I
was keen to hear the report on the pale blue car. None of
the other suspects had shown up yet.
The voice at the Sierra 4 scene confirmed that the
suspect had been successfully arrested and his car towed
away.
As the reports flowed in, it became apparent that the
pale blue car owner would be the last one to arrive at his
scene. The other three motorists were arrested in a similar
manner. They would reach the spot they had parked their
cars, unlock their padlock, discover a second padlock,
express surprise or even shock, some try unsuccessfully to
67
call someone from their mobile phones, get arrested and
put in a waiting van, and their cars would be towed away.
It was now six o’clock but the driver of the pale blue
car was nowhere to be seen. We had been waiting for him
for an hour. Some strange voices had started playing in
my head. Could he have decided to leave the car at the
parking lot for an overnight stay? Was he not worried that
the parking inspectorate officers would spot it there and
wonder why no one had attended to it? Could he have
been delayed in a meeting in his office or elsewhere?
Mr Mengi kept reassuring me that the man would
show up. “Even if he decides to send someone else to fetch
his car, whoever will come for the car will lead us to the
owner,” he told me. “We think he is the mastermind of
this self-clamping phenomenon. That’s why we have
coded him Sierra 1. I wonder whether he is making any
money by recruiting others.”
“Perhaps he is the one supplying them with the clamps,”
I said.
Mr Mengi regarded me with admiration. “You are a
very bright lad, Majani,” he said. “We may need to enroll
you in the intelligence service.”
All the four of us in the control room laughed. Just then,
a voice came through: ‘Seems like Sierra 1 has arrived.’ We
all instantly fell silent. ‘He is very cautious. He is looking
around. This way, that way, this way again. He is now at
68
the door of his car, but he hesitates to open it. He starts
going around the car, as he looks over his shoulders. He is
checking his tyres. He comes round again to the driver’s
door. He hesitates again. He pays attention to his phone
which seems to be ringing. Now he is walking away as he
receives the call.’
“Don’t make any move,” Mr Mengi directed the team
at the Sierra 1 scene. “He can’t have suspected anything.”
I had not realised that I was now seated at the edge of
my chair. I was both anxious and nervous. I wondered
what would happen if he disappeared.
Mr Mengi may have read my mind, for he spoke again
on the command machine, “If he doesn’t come back, we
will just tow his vehicle away and ask the police to track
him down.”
The voice at the scene came on: ‘Now he is coming
back. Walking very fast… He has reached the car. He
abruptly opens the door, reaches for something… It’s a
medium-sized brown envelope. He is dialing a number on
his cellphone. He starts walking away again as he talks on
the phone.’
I almost jumped out of my seat. This suspense was
driving me crazy. I glanced at Mr Mengi. He was very
calm. I wondered why the enforcement officers wanted to
let this man go scot-free. Could the man have suspected
that his compatriots had been arrested?
69
The voice continued to report: ‘Sierra 1 has entered
a nearby restaurant. We can either follow him into the
restaurant or wait for him to come out.’
“Wait till he comes out,” Mr Mengi advised. Aside, he
lowered his voice as he instructed me to get him some
coffee from the coffee pause. “And get yourself a cup of
your flavoured tea as well,” he added, smiling, “it will
calm your nerves.”
I almost ran to the coffee pause. I did not want to miss
any report from the crime scene. I wanted to be back as
soon as possible so as not to miss the spectacle of the
man’s arrest. I could not tell why I so much wanted him
arrested. It was not that I wanted him punished. The only
thing that was in my heart was the desire to see this racket
stopped.
It pained me that some people were stealing from
the public. We had learnt in our Social Studies class
that anyone who did not pay what he or she was legally
required to pay was a thief. Such a person was responsible
for any stalled development project, much like those who
stole the money allocated to such a project.
Soon I was back at the command room. No sooner
had I handed Mr Mengi his cup of coffee than the voice
at the scene reported: ‘Sierra 1 is now coming out of
the restaurant. He doesn’t have the brown envelope. He
is walking back to his car. The parking area is getting
70
emptier as motorists drive their cars away. We have had
to move our car a few metres away from the pale blue car
so that we don’t arouse any suspicion. Sierra 1 is now next
to his car.’
I saw Mr Mengi clench his fist, then I heard him utter
the words “finally” between his clenched teeth.
‘Sierra 1 now removes a bunch of keys from his
trousers pocket. He squats to reach the tyre. He snaps
open his padlock. There he goes – he has noticed the
second padlock! He shoots up and looks around. He is
satisfied that he is still alone. He walks to the boot of his
car. Opens the boot. Oh no! He has picked up a hammer
from the boot and is walking back to the clamped tyre. He
hesitates. He must be trying to figure out how to hit our
padlock, for it is not easily accessible.’
“Move in!” I heard Mr Mengi command.
‘Our officers have sprung out of their hide-outs. Even
the crime reporter is out with his cameraman. Our man
attempts to bolt out but he is surrounded… He has now
surrendered. Our towing car is also inching closer to the
offending car to tow it away. Mission accomplished.’
Mr Mengi and I sighed simultaneously. “We have
finally captured him,” he said triumphantly. “It’s taken
forty hours of waiting to nab him. This is the end of the
self-clamping cartel. We will take these suspects to court
tomorrow.”
71
A/w 7 – City County enforcement officers arresting the
d r i v e r/o w n e r o f t h e p a l e b l u e c a r. S h o w t h e c a r w i t h a c l a m p
o n i t s f r o n t R H S t y r e. S h o w a T V c a m e r a m a n c a p t u r i n g t h e
s c e n e w i t h h i s st a t e-o f-t h e-a r t p o r t a b l e c a m e r a. T h e d r i v e r
h a s a l r e a d y s u r r e nd e r e d. A t o w i n g c a r i s i n c h i n g c l o s e r t o
t h e o f f e nd i n g c a r t o t o w i t a w a y.
He has now surrendered.
72
“Can I ask a question?”
“Yes, Majani, please ask as many questions as you
wish.”
“Why are you calling them suspects yet we caught
them red-handed? We know that they clamped their own
cars to evade paying the required parking fee.”
“The law declares that every person is innocent until
proven guilty,” Mr Mengi explained. “It is not up to us
or any other enforcement officer to decide whether one is
guilty or not. That mandate is given to the courts of law.
We can only try and prove that they are guilty, but the
verdict lies with the court.”
“Can these people deny that they were stealing from
the public?”
“Yes,” Mr Mengi answered, “one, some or all of them
can deny that they were stealing. They could even claim
that they did not clamp their cars. That we are the ones
who did it so that we get them arrested and punished out
of malice.”
“Really?” I was at a loss. “We caught them as they
unlocked the padlocks on their clamps. Also, their clamps
did not come from our store. Since yesterday, our clamps
have been bearing a special identification sticker. How
can one claim that we clamped their cars? Isn’t that
outrageous?”
73
“Among us are people bent on breaking the law and
causing pain on others. They do this out of selfish motives.
However, even when we catch these people red-handed,
the law requires us to arraign them in court for their cases
to be decided by a magistrate or a judge.”
I was having a hard time reconciling the fact that
someone caught in the act could still be given the time
and space to prove that he or she was not doing any wrong.
Mr Mengi could see my dilemma. “Remember, Majani,
the burden is not on the one caught breaking the law, but,
interestingly, on those who have caught him or her. They
have to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that he or she
is guilty of the offence he or she is accused of committing.”
“Beyond any reasonable doubt,” I said reflectively.
“Yes, I have heard my sister mention that time and again.
In fact, she says you have to prove one beyond the shadow
of doubt that they were wrong.”
“That fact is always rubbed in the skin of any law
student. So, as a law student, your sister knows it too well.
She can explain in detail what all this means. I only have
some little paralegal training, so I can’t say I’m an expert.”
“I’ll sit at her feet this weekend to fully learn this
circumstance. I hope she does not sway my heart from my
journalism passion into the legal profession.”
74
“Don’t worry about it,” Mr Mengi said, laughing, “both
careers suit you very well. Plus, the one of a detective.”
We all laughed heartily.
At that point, we heard some noises outside our office.
When we peeped through the window, we saw a battery
of media reporters who had most probably come to get
details of the self-clamping story. Mr Mengi directed me
to remain inside as he rushed out to address them.
75
Prior to my attachment with the city parking and traffic
control department during the year’s Community Service
Week, I could never imagine that a person could rise to
fame by merely spotting another person committing a
crime.
It emerged that as soon as videos of ‘Operation Net
Self-Clamped Cars’ played on the television channels, the
stations dispatched news reporters and feature writers
to the city parking and traffic control department to get
details of this important discovery and interview one
Master Majani. There had not been a major event to report
on lately, so there was hunger for news of an extraordinary
occurrence in the city. This day’s extraordinary occurrence
was attributed to my keen eye at spotting a man clamping
his own car. Every reporter wanted a piece of me, as they
say in the language of journalists.
I could hear Mr Mengi explaining to the journalists
outside our office that he needed to seek permission from
my parents before he could allow them to take pictures
of me, since I was a minor. Mr Mengi offered to provide
Chapter Eight
76
answers to the questions the journalists had. However,
they insisted that they wanted to interview me about my
discovery that led to the arrest of the suspects of a big
fraud.
My father readily gave his consent. I was to learn later
that his law student daughter advised him to do so, noting
that the matter was in public interest and the story would
inspire many young people to take part in the important
role of whistleblowing.
When I ventured outside, I was greeted by wild cheering
from the reporters. My supervisor had cautioned me that
my interview with the reporters would be broadcast live,
therefore I needed to be brave and loud in my responses to
the questions. He proceeded to introduce me, stating my
name, age, the school I attended and my reason for being
at the city parking and traffic control department at the
time.
He told them that I discovered the self-clamping racket
during the second day of my attachment. The discovery
triggered the planning and execution of the operation to
arrest the offending motorists. He hastened to state that
the men we had arrested a while back were only suspects
and their guilt status could only be determined in a court
of law after they were arraigned the following morning.
The first reporter asked what Ms Gloria would call a
leading question: Did I feel on top of the world after my
discovery of a world-class fraud propelled me to a celebrity
status? From the corner of my eye I saw Mr Mengi wince
77
as if the question had pierced his heart. When you have a
Ms Gloria for a teacher of English, you know that you can
eloquently handle any question thrown at your face.
“Thank you for having me,” I said calmly. “It is such
an honour to be talking to you, and the entire nation,
particularly on a day like today. I don’t think I deserve all
this attention, for my discovery was out of sheer luck. I
just happened to be at the right place at the right time. My
joy, really, is in knowing that a bad thing has been nipped
in the bud.”
I was surprised to hear some reporters clap at what I
said. The next question required me to describe briefly
how I came to discover that some motorists were clamping
their own cars.
I delivered the answer with a precision that would
make Ms Gloria swell with pride. “On my first day at
this city’s parking and traffic control department, as we
patrolled the parking lots checking the payment status
of cars, my supervisor Mr Mengi and I discovered a pale
blue car that had been clamped. I wondered who had
clamped it since he and I were the only officers assigned
to the particular street. That raised my curiosity to very
high levels and sent my antennae roving mad. Later that
evening, by coincidence, I happened to be near the car
when a man unclamped the car and drove away. When,
on the second day, I spotted the same car, I recognised
it at once. I instinctively observed its movements. That’s
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when I saw its driver clamp the car. And the rest, as they
say, is history.”
I fielded a few more questions in regard to my
experiences during my attachment and, also, during the
operation. I referred my interviewers to Mr Mengi for
answers regarding the operation.
One question caught me off-guard. Did I have any
political ambition? Now that I had gained so much
popularity and so suddenly, should I consider vying for a
political position when I grew up?
This is how I responded. “I love reading biographical
texts. I have read about quite a few national and world
leaders. I always feel good when a leader goes out of his
or her way to do something that helps change the lives
of other citizens. I often aspire to be like them. However,
I know from what I have read that it requires much
more than luck to achieve what they have achieved. I
imagine that my school mates may want to cash in on
this thing you are calling popularity to elect me into
their leadership. I will not decline. As for the country’s
political leadership, I will cross that bridge when I get to
it. After all, I’m yet to attain the voting age.”
My response might have opened a Pandora’s box as a
chorus of voices erupted from the reporters, ostensibly
to seek clarifications or force a commitment. Mr Mengi
stepped forward and rescued me from the many questions
that were flying towards me.
79
A/w 8 – M a j a n i (1 5 y e a r s o l d) i s b e f o r e m a n y j o u r n a l i st s/
r e p o r t e r s a n s w e r i n g t h e i r q u e st i o n s o u t si d e t h e c i t y p a r k i n g
a nd t r a f f i c c o n t r o l d e p a r t m e n t. M r M e n g i st a nd s b e si d e
h im.
I delivered the answer with a precision that would make
Ms Gloria swell with pride.
80
“Ladies and gentlemen, that is enough for today,” he
said. “Let’s meet in court tomorrow if you can make it.
Then, you will get to know the developments in this saga.”
The journalists yielded to his request to end the
interview, though reluctantly.
As soon as the interview ended, Mr Mengi’s phone
rang. He answered the call and announced as he passed
the phone over to me, “Ms Gloria!”
“Hello, Ms Gloria!” I said excitedly.
“Congratulations on your superb exploits!” Ms Gloria
said jubilantly. “You’ve done us proud, Majani! I can’t wait
to hear you narrate your experience in class in January!”
“Thank you, Ms Gloria! I, too, am very excited about
the turn of events here. And I can’t thank you enough for
exposing me to all that!”
“I’ll call you when you get home we chat some more.
Have a great evening, and take care.”
“Thank you!”
The phone rang again. I gave it to Mr Mengi without
checking who was calling, for I considered it rude to spy
on his calls. He immediately returned the phone to me
and urged me to receive the call. “It’s your father.”
“Hello, Dad!”
“My boy Majani! You are on national television! Your
sister is screaming her ears off with excitement at what
we have just watched on TV. Your mother is equally
overjoyed.”
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“Thank you, Dad! Please thank Raquel and Mum for
me.”
“Now listen; I need you to stay with Mr Mengi until I
get there. I’m picking you up from the office or wherever
your supervisor will advise I come. Give him the phone so
that I request him to detain you there.”
“Okay, Dad. See you soon,” I said and handed Mr
Mengi the phone.
Mr Mengi spoke briefly with my father. Then he
turned to me and instructed: “Your father will pick you
up from our office. He will be here in no time; he will use
the expressway. Let’s join the rest of the Operation team in
the boardroom for a briefing.”
We found the other members of the self-clamp busting
squad talking animatedly about the day’s event. Triumph
was painted allover their faces. Mr Mengi addressed us at
once.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are grateful for the success
we registered today. It was such a Herculean task but we
pulled it off.” He paused to allow the clapping to subside.
I was at home with the phrase ‘Herculean task’, for Ms
Gloria had taught us how to use it in composition writing.
The first time she had used it, I had shot up my hand and
asked what on earth that animal was. She had challenged
us to consider cutting down a century-old baobab tree
using a kitchen knife. We had all admitted that it would be
82
difficult to do so. I recalled remarking that it would take
a whole century to do so, which sent everyone gasping for
breath due to the prolonged laughter that erupted.
Mr Mengi interrupted my reverie. “No one was injured
during the operation – neither the hunted nor the hunters.
We can safely say, like our young man here is wont to write
in a composition, all is well that ends well. The suspects
will be taken to court tomorrow and the rest will fall in
step.”
He paused, then asked if anyone had any question. No
one else spoke. “We are dismissed,” he announced. As we
rose to leave, he nodded to me and said, “Remember to
wait in my office.”
****
“Bravo! Bravo!” I was greeted by the familiar booming
voice of my father as I got to the lobby. “You’ve served
your country well,” he added as he embraced me.
“Thank you, Dad!” I said. I was confident that my
father meant it, for he never wasted his words. If you were
in the right he would praise you, but if you were in the
wrong he would scold you.
“Now, with your new celebrity status, as everyone is
calling it, you need a bodyguard to shield you from being
swept off your feet by the crowds,” my father said. I knew
that he also meant this. He was a professional javelin
83
thrower and he had grown a sizeable chunk of muscles on
his arms and shoulders. I felt safe in his company.
“As soon as I greet Mr Mengi, we shall be on our way,”
my father declared.
Just then, Mr Mengi came into the lobby. He and my
father greeted heartily as if they had known each other
for years. The truth is that this was the second time they
were meeting. I was not surprised by the ease with which
they exchanged pleasantries. My father was always warm
towards people. Mr Mengi was also highly sociable.
They spoke briefly about the arrests we had made. Mr
Mengi joked that my father needed to allow me to remain
at the parking and traffic control department for another
week so that I make another discovery.
“Once he has cleared his junior school, senior school
and college,” my father offered, “he will be all yours if he
so wishes.”
The two men burst out laughing as they shook hands
firmly.
“See you tomorrow, Majani,” Mr Mengi said. “We shall
wrap up our week-long programme after the morning
briefing session.”
84
My father dropped me at Mr Mengi’s office at six-thirty
the following morning. This was the last day of my week-
long internship at the city’s parking and traffic control
department. Mr Mengi and I would be doing a wrap-up
of the week’s activities on this day.
As I had been accustomed to doing, I made myself
a cup of cardamom tea and sat at the lobby reading
the day’s newspapers. All the leading dailies seemed to
have competed on who would capture the events of the
previous day more prominently. I read each headline
with relish, knowing that they were talking about me.
One headline screamed:
Fortieth Day For
S e l f-C la m p G o o n s
Another read:
How School Lad Bust
Ci t y S e l f-Cl a m p S c a m
Chapter Nine
85
Yet another praised:
School Teen Outwits
C i t y P a r k i n g C r o o ks
The following one appeared to have got more
sensational about the saga:
Gotcha!
W o n d e r K i d C a tc h e s
B a d B o y s I n T h e A c t
I decided to read the story under this headline. ‘A
school lad has acquired overnight celebrity status after he
led the city’s parking and traffic control force to a rogue
motorists’ hideout. Majani Ayubu, 14, was going about
his business in the city streets when he discovered a man
clamping his own car to evade paying the mandatory
parking fee. He secretly took pictures and gave them
to the parking control unit where he is attached for his
Community Service Week internship.’
“Detective Majani!” Mr Mengi bellowed as he walked
into the lobby. “Please come over; we need to plan our
day.”
I followed him into his office. “Can I get you a cup of
coffee, Sir?” I offered.
86
“No, thank you!” Mr Mengi said. “I have had enough
of the beverage this morning during our early meeting.”
He invited me to sit down.
“Thank you.”
“Now, my boy Majani,” Mr Mengi started. “Let’s recap
on the things you have learnt this week. What can you
tell me about your experience in the last four days here?
Let me recast my question: Mention three things you have
learnt during your attachment at the parking and traffic
control department.”
I found this question easy to answer since I had already
rehearsed my responses. “First, I have learnt how to use
the digital application to monitor compliance to parking
fee regulations. It has been a lot of fun using the tablet.
Besides, I know how to use the USSD code to pay for
parking in this city.”
“Good. Do you remember what USSD stands for?”
“Yes, Unstructured Supplementary Service Data. I can
even enumerate its advantages from what you taught me
and what we learnt in class. Most importantly, it does
not require the user to have any internet connection or
mobile data bundles. It enables the client to serve himself
or herself, eliminating the need for any parking attendant
to wait on him or her.”
“Excellent!” Mr Mengi was openly excited. “Please tell
me more about your experience.”
87
“The second most important thing I have learnt is that
when you are out in the streets, you must be alert to what
is happening around you. That way, you will spot a con
artist, a crook and even a thug from a distance. This helps
you to avoid trouble.”
“Well said,” Mr Mengi interrupted. “Remember the
young man in ragged jeans? He nearly got killed by the
angry mob.”
“Yes, he never saw it coming; because he was not alert.”
“Tell me the third thing you learnt.”
“The third thing I learnt is that we can make the world
a better place by doing what’s good. It takes courage to
do the right thing and it can be costly, but it is worth it.
I feel good that I helped to detect a scam in our city. I
could have easily decided that it was none of my business,
and perhaps the city would have continued to lose revenue
unless someone else detected the racket.”
“I’m overjoyed to hear you talk like that!” Mr Mengi
gave me the thumbs up. “Doing good makes you feel
good. In fact, doing good is the only good thing to do…”
His desk phone rang, interrupting him.
I could tell from his utterances and from the way he
was nodding vigorously that it was a very important call.
As soon as he finished talking on the phone, Mr Mengi
stood up and gestured to me to also rise up. “That was
our county governor!” he announced jubilantly. “Brace
88
yourself, young man, for the surprise that lies ahead of
you.”
“What is the surprise, Sir?” I asked, unable to control
myself.
“He wants to host you for lunch!”
“What!” I could not believe my ears.
“Yes, he has requested me to deliver you, your parents
and sister, and one of your teachers to his office at noon
for a photo session before we proceed to lunch at an
undisclosed five-star hotel in this city.”
“Wow!” I said involuntarily. “Please get Ms Gloria!”
“I was thinking about her too!”
What happened at the governor’s office can make a
story for a big book. So, as I wait to write such a book,
allow me to give you a sneak preview of it. I felt like I was
in a whirlpool: The county leader hugged me tightly. We
took countless pictures at the entrance of his office. He
presented a medal of courage to me. I rode in his car as we
drove out for lunch. I had a feast of a lunch. He offered me
a job when I complete my education.
Need I say more? Yes, perhaps in another story.
**The End**